


Safe In My Arms

by jagnikjen



Series: Thirty Day OTP Challenge [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Established Relationship, M/M, the death of someone close
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 12:06:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6657124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jagnikjen/pseuds/jagnikjen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gregory offers his heart and support in unique fashion and Mycroft loves him  for it all the more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe In My Arms

**Author's Note:**

> The individual chapters will posted in the order I write them—hopefully one every couple of weeks—but not in chronological order for their relationship. Day two: the death of someone close.

Mycroft blinks in the darkness, disoriented for only a moment. His hand snakes from beneath the bedclothes before his brain has coherently processed that his mobile is chiming softly from the bedside table. “Mycroft Holmes,” he murmurs, slipping from bed and padding across the room into the en suite as the person on the other end speaks. He listens as he pushes the door towards closed, but doesn’t bother with the switch. The blue of the night light provides sufficient illumination.

“Yes, I see…all right. No.

“Thank you.”

His head is buzzing now and he lets his mobile slip from his hand to the granite surface before bracing himself against the counter top. It took little more than a minute for his world to be shaken. Tears prickle at the corners of his eyes, and he pinches the bridge of his nose to stay the moisture. It’s too no avail, however and a tear escapes. He sniffs, keeping his eyes closed lest any further tears fall, and reaches blindly for a flannel.

There’s a soft tap at the door and he starts, eyes blinking open, vision blurred from the tears. He blinks again to clear his sight.

“Mycroft?” The voice is soft, questioning. Greg stands there, sleep-rumpled, with a crease on his cheek and one on his forehead. He pushes into the room, reaching out, running a hand up Mycroft’s arm and curling around his neck, pulling him close. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Mycroft shakes his head. Words stick in his throat, not because he doesn’t want to speak, but because he can’t. He tries to drag air into his lungs, but his throat has swollen and his nose has clogged with sadness, and he gasps for air instead.

“Okay, okay…I’m here.” Greg folds him into his strong arms, and a large hand runs up and down his spine, gentle and soothing. “I have you.”

Mycroft fists the back of Greg’s t-shirt and sobs quietly into Greg’s shoulder. He’s not sure how much time passes before the burst of shocked grief eases enough that he can swallow and breathe.

“Talk, tea, or bed?” Greg asks.

Mycroft takes breath and pulls away. “All of the above?” He must look a fright with red eyes and a splotchy face, but Greg just tightens his grip on Mycroft’s arm for a moment and says, “Course, yeah. Climb back in bed and I’ll make the tea. What would you prefer?”

“Jasmine, please.”

Greg wrinkles his nose, but nods. “A mug all right?”

“Yes, of course.” He nods once. It’d be silly to make a whole tray at two a.m.

Mycroft wets the flannel and the coolness is a relief against his overheated face. He flicks on the bathroom light and pulls the bathroom door shut about halfway, leaving a diagonal stripe of white across the bedroom, and returns to bed. 

Greg returns with two steaming mugs, and the crinkle of a biscuit package sounds from somewhere on his person. Then Mycroft catches sight of the square Tardis mug and rolls his eyes. He can’t help the upturn of his lips, despite the heaviness of his heart. Gregory offers his heart and support in unique fashion and Mycroft loves him for it all the more. 

Greg settles in next to him and they’re sitting side-by-side against the headboard. The small package of shortbread biscuits lies in the narrow valley between their legs.

Mycroft lifts the mug and inhales the floral steam. Greg takes a slurpy sip of his own sugared and milked PG Tips and sets it down before scooting down beneath the covers and rolling to face Mycroft. His large brown eyes are expectant, but he waits patiently as Mycroft carefully sips tea from the corner of the mug. He too sets his mug aside.

Greg’s lips curve into a smirk. “You’re a sport, M.”

“And you’re right pain in my arse.” There’s no heat in his words.

“But you love me.”

“Indeed, I do.” Mycroft runs the back of his hand along the scruff of Greg’s jaw and meets his gaze again. Warm fingers curl around his wrist and then twine themselves in his own. Mycroft sighs and the sadness stings his eyes again, so he closes them and lets his head fall back against the headboard. “My cousin died.”

“I’m so sorry, Mycroft.”

He nods and sniffs. “Sh…she died of the influenza…how does that happen in 2016?”

“I don’t know…” Greg’s fingers tighten around his own and the gesture is comforting and appreciated. “Tell me about her.”

“Helena was my favorite cousin. A talented jewelry designer. A few years older than me. Her mother is one of Mummy’s cousins. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her, although we do—did—exchange cards at Christmas and for birthdays. We endured the family gatherings together. All the other cousins were much younger…” He sighs. “She was the first person I came out to officially.”

“Officially?”

Mycroft shrugs. “I think they all knew before I told them.”

“Ah.”

“She stood with me when I told the rest of my family.”

“Did they give you hell?”

Mycroft’s lips tip up slightly at the corners again and he shakes his head. “Both sides of my family have their fair share of eccentrics, including homosexuals, so no.”

“Glad to hear it. I might have had to revise my opinion of your parents.”

“She would have loved you. Helena. I should have… I’m sorry I didn’t introduce y—” Mycroft’s voice breaks and he scrunches his eyes shut against the burn again.

Greg budges closer to him, sliding an arm around his shoulder, and tugs. “C’mon… It’s okay to cry. It’s just me. You’re safe here, you know that.”

Mycroft curls into Greg’s arms, Greg’s heart beats steady beneath his ear, and lets the tears and the pain come.


End file.
